Jake
by lovecoloured
Summary: Eighteen-year-old Jake is an attractive, intelligent, and popular boy. However, when plans to crash a party go awry, the Inspector isn't the only person after him and his friends: the kids have meddled in the criminal web of a powerful drug lord. This is the first story in a planned series chronicling the lives of the ragtag group of hooligan teenagers.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note** (I'm so sorry I know you don't want to hear this) **:** This is my first time writing fanfiction hehe. I've always been too scared to, but I decided to try it because with Subway Surfers, it's a small fandom so I don't have to worry about a bunch of people looking at it, and there are so many possibilities to work with when building a story for this universe.

Rated T for coarse language, drug/alcohol themes, minor violence, minor adult themes

I am omitting some of the characters from the game in my story [Yutani, Ninja, Tagbot, Zoe, and all limited edition and World Tour characters]! Again, **for convenience of storytelling, I will not be using all of the characters**.

*Subway Surfers is property of Kiloo Games*

I hope you enjoy c:

EDIT: I accidentally uploaded the old version on here, so I changed it to the new version. There are only a few minor changes, nothing big.

* * *

"_GOOOD MORNIIIING, PLEASANT RIDGE_!"

Jake awoke with a start. From across the room the alarm clock radio blared with upbeat music and the voice of an overly charismatic man.

"This is DJ Richie Hood of 99.5 THE JUNGLE, here to get you ready for another _beautiful_ day! Today is Tuesday, September the seventeenth at seven A.M., sharp. Looks like it's gonna be another sunny day, folks…"

He noticed he wasn't in his bed; he must have fallen asleep at his desk again, clad only in boxers. He stretched with a massive yawn, grimacing from the knots in his back that developed from sleeping in the uncomfortable office chair. A puddle of drool on the desk spilled onto his lap. Ew. "So sexy," he mumbled to himself sarcastically, wiping the leftover moisture on his mouth with his arm.

He looked at the piece of paper he had been huddled over for hours last night, a draft of his next piece of street art. His friends may have gotten their kicks just by tagging train cars and brick walls, but Jake was more interested in creating masterpieces. His fascination with the abstract always showed in his graffiti—his style was offbeat and asymmetrical, his content was eccentric and occasionally disturbing, his messages pointless yet also profound. His current project was an image that came into his head a while back that he just couldn't shake: a big-headed Martian holding a lit cigarette with its bony fingers, its eyes dead and instead filled with colorful TV static bars. He had no idea what it was supposed to mean, but he was pretty sure some philosophical stoners would spend an afternoon arguing about it over a bong and five pounds of Cheetos, and that was pretty cool too.

"Aaaaand THAT'S your weather forecast for this week, folks! Now, for you commuters out there, we'll bring out Cindy with the latest traffic updates and then we can bust out some _tunes_, am I right?" Ugh. Jake always hated that Richie guy; he was so obnoxious. His raucous radio roar was, however, the only noise that could rouse Jake out of his abnormally heavy slumber.

He rose from the cheap office chair, shut off the alarm, and sauntered over to his closet to pick out what to wear for the day. He decided on his usual t-shirt and skinny jeans, covering up with his favorite hooded jacket and his lucky baseball cap. As he was lacing up his sneakers he noted the calendar nearby, though not for the pin-up girls. Sure, sexy, chainsaw-wielding Nordic broads were nice to look at, but today was special. It was Fresh's birthday, and that definitely called for celebration. Jake picked up his cell phone and speed-dialed his best friend.

The phone rang. And rang again. And again. _Geez, wake up, Fresh_, Jake thought impatiently. Just when he thought it was going to go to voicemail, the ringing stopped abruptly and a groggy voice answered from the other end: "…Jake? Bro, why are you callin' so early? I'm pretty sure the sun ain't even out yet." Jake could hear Fresh yawn into the receiver.

Jake chuckled. "Well, _bro_, why don't you open up the blinds and get your ass out of bed! It's after seven. Today's your big day! You can't oversleep on your big day, man. We've got too much to do."

This time it was Fresh's turn to laugh. "Oh, really now? What're you gonna do, take me to Chuck E. Cheese?"

"Naw, man, get this—I'm gonna get us into Aly McFarlane's party tonight."

"No fucking way, man! You mean Aly Mc-Richie-Rich-Prep-School-Fancy-Mansion McFarlane? Damn, son… I'd like to see you try."

"Consider it done, Fresh. I'm gonna get the whole gang together and we'll all go. It'll be great. Since you're an adult now, though, we have to do something about your problem…"

"My problem?"

"Yeah, man, you're a _virgin_!"

"That's supposed to be a problem?"

"You can't be eighteen years old and still be a virgin, dude! It's a disgrace. We're gonna do something about that tonight, though. Once we get to the party, we'll hook you up with a chick that's been spliffed up a bit. Sound good?"

"Come on, man! I'm pretty sure, like, the majority of people don't even lose their virginity until they're in their twenties! I really don't see what the big deal is." After a moment Fresh let out an exasperated sigh. "Whatever, man."

"Come on, you can't deny that you'd rather have a real, live girl than your hand and some skin mags." There was no response on the other end. "…Exactly. By the way," Jake continued, "make sure you stop by the train yard as soon as you're ready. I know your ma's probably made you some celebratory birthday breakfast, so take your time."

"You've got that right! I can smell it now. Hooo-wee! Looks like Mama's made biscuits and gravy!" _Now_ he was awake. That kid would do just about anything for free food.

"Just make sure you don't stuff yourself too much, though… there's a surprise waiting for you once you get here. I gotta go now. See you in a few."

"See ya."

"Oh, Fresh?"

"Hm?"

"Happy Birthday, buddy."

"…Thanks, man." Jake knew his friend well enough to know that Fresh was grinning from ear to ear.

Jake hung up the phone and reached for the keys to his flat and his duffel bag. His friends should already be at the train yard by now. He tossed the keys in the air and caught them as he was headed out the door. _Time to face the day, _he thought to himself. _Let's get this party started!_

* * *

Jake loved the train yard. When he looked beyond all the smog and rusty train cars and bums warming their hands over barrel fires, he realized it was a great place to be alone with his thoughts, to chill with his friends, or to use as his canvas. As he strolled onto the designated meeting spot—a chain of a couple of old, abandoned box cars, the typical hangout he shared with his friends—whistling and with his hands in his pockets, he was greeted with familiar faces. Unhappy familiar faces.

Well, Spike almost always looked unhappy. His appearance, with his large stature, sleeveless leather jacket, and bright-red-tipped Mohawk, was indeed intimidating, but Jake always thought that the whole tough-guy shtick was just an act. Not that he would ever call him out on that, though; Jake was still pretty sure that, in a fight with Spike, he would have his ass handed to him on a silver platter. When Jake arrived Spike was listening to his iPod and smoking a cigarette. _That boy sure goes ham on the cancer sticks, _he thought to himself.

"Jake!" an angry voice yelled in his direction. Jake looked over to see the source of the commotion: yet another unhappy face. A curvy but toned blonde wrung her beanie in her hands, her cheeks flushed and her bespectacled eyes glaring at him with a venomous fury.

"Tricky! You look beautiful this morning." Jake leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. She didn't reject the display of affection, which was a good sign for him. Whatever she was mad about couldn't have been that important, at least not something that could compromise their relationship. Still, though, he didn't want to do anything to risk his girlfriend being even more pissed than she already was. "What's wrong, babe?"

"Have you checked the time, moron? It's half past seven! How can you be so smug and nonchalant about this? Fresh could be here any minute and we still haven't finished setting up the surprise because we need your help!" She sighed and ran her hand through her hair. "Geez, Jake! You're going to be the death of me!"

"Christ, did someone shove a cactus up your ass or something?" Spike mumbled to himself. Jake tried to suppress his laughter. What? It was what everyone was thinking.

Tricky, however, heard his jab at her and swiveled around to meet his eyes. "_Don't try me, you sleazy punk_," she spat. "_I can do things to you that you could never even fathom, and by the time I'll be through with you, you'll be pleading for eternal damnation in the most harrowing and tortuous corners of Hell as respite_."

The malicious rage in her tone sent shivers down Jake's spine. For such a small package, Tricky had a sharp wit and silver tongue, with fighting skills to show for it. She was soft-spoken and cordial for the most part, with a very compassionate heart, but when it came to holding her own, she had no fear and showed no mercy. It was something he loved about her… when the anger wasn't sent in his direction, that is.

"Woah, girl," a voice piped in from one of the train cars. "You need to take a step back and chill the fuck out." The voice belonged to a girl with a large afro who was leaning back against the car, next to the entrance. Two teenaged boys, one tan and attractive with a surfer's body and sun-bleached golden-blonde hair, the other of Middle Eastern descent wearing Aviators, expensive bling, and an Arabic _keffiyeh_, were sitting near her inside the box car, their legs dangling over the edge. The three passed around a joint, each taking long, deep, drags.

"Yeah, listen to Frizzy, Trick. You don't usually get so worked up over little things," said the beach boy. "Don't sweat the small stuff." He took a long drag and held it in for a moment. As he spoke smoke was released from his mouth and nose. "Just… take a deep breath and… relaaax, dude… ain't that right, Prince? … Prince K? Where you at, dude?"

His box-car-mate shook his head to snap back into reality. "Sorry, Brody. Were you saying something? Because I am totally out of it right now. Oh, hey Jake!" He waved at the newcomer lazily. The solid gold watch on his wrist glinted in the sunlight. "You know, Tricky, you're lookin' reaaal tense. You should take a puff or two. This is some really nice dank… trust me."

Tricky replaced the beanie on her head and adjusted her glasses, taking a few deep breaths. "Yeah, I guess you guys are right." She sighed. "I just really want this to go well for Fresh, you know? That, and I'm super exhausted because I stayed up so late making those slutty brownies."

Jake could see Prince K's eyes nearly pop out of his head from underneath his shades. "I have no idea what the fuck slutty brownies are, but they sound absolutely fucking _ambrosial_. I gotta try one."

The group couldn't help but laugh. "Well, hand over the spliff first," said Tricky. "You seem as baked as my brownies, so I want in on that action. Once we get through preparing the surprise and Birthday Boy gets here, then you can alleviate your munchies all you want." Prince K handed her the joint and she helped herself to a few drags; Jake did, too. He wasn't as adamant as the others about getting high as religiously as they did, but that didn't stop him from enjoying himself every now and then.

When they were through, Jake rallied them all together; out of everyone in the group, he was the leader by nature. "Alright guys, Fresh could be here any minute now, so let's get to work, shall we?" The group was about to separate when Jake remembered something. "Oh, by the way," he added, "...where's Tasha?"

"She's exercising behind the box cars," Frizzy responded, rolling her eyes. "She kept on whining about how this whole thing was interfering with her morning workout. Can't you hear her back there?"

Jake focused his ears and faintly picked up a girl's heavy breathing and counting in rhythm. "Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine..."

"I'm telling you, Jake, that girl is obsessed," Frizzy continued. "Want me to go get her?"

Jake pondered for a moment. "...No. Just... let her do her own thing, I guess." Last time he bothered Tasha during one of her workouts she was so absorbed in the activity that she almost high-kicked Jake in the chin. "It's best we don't bother her. Now, who's ready to give Fresh his best birthday ever?"


	2. Chapter 2

"How much longer am I gonna have to be like this? This is making me nervous…"

"We're almost there, silly!"

Tasha guided a blindfolded Fresh by his shoulders through the train yard. After a couple of minutes of weaving their way through the cars and rails, they had finally arrived at their destination.

"I'll take your blindfold off now. Ready?"

"Just get this thing off my face already, Tash!"

She hastily untied and removed the cloth from Fresh's head.

"SURPRISE!"

Jake and the others had jumped out from behind a very special train car, ironic party hats donned crookedly and plastic noisemakers buzzing. As Fresh absorbed the spectacle in front of him, his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. "Holy…."

On the train car were the artfully spray-painted words _Happy Birthday Fresh! _Below it was graffiti of a cartoony Fresh holding his favorite boom box.

Jake stepped forward. "Do you like it?"

Fresh laughed incredulously. "Dude, this is _awesome_! Who made this?"

"We all did. We worked together to make it for you," Brody replied.

Spike chuckled. "He's right, believe it or not. Most of the time, trying to work with these knuckleheads is a major pain in the ass. Consider this a miracle."

"It's not so much a miracle, though, as it is that we care so much about you that we're willing to stop going at each other's throats for you, man," Frizzy piped in. Jake noticed that, at that comment, his best friend blushed a little.

Fresh grinned uncontrollably from ear to ear. "Wow, guys… I'm speechless. I can't say how grateful—." Fresh paused for a moment and raised his eyebrows. "Wait, is that…" he squinted at the train car. "Is this a _Ruthie_?"

"Yup." Jake continued in his snobbiest voice, impersonating an upper-class millionaire, "This is indubitably one of the _high-class_ train cars carrying the _invaluable_ goods of Mister _P. R._ _Rutherford_, of Rutherford and Company." Jake knew how important the business tycoon was in Pleasant Ridge. His name was everywhere: on billboards and buses, trucks and trains, even on his own private airplanes and helicopters; he and his friends called them "Ruthies" for short. The billionaire's economic influence reached all across the East Coast—which is why sticking it to the biggest man in town was the perfect project for the group of rebellious vandals and the perfect gift for Fresh.

"I hacked into the railroad service's database and picked up the time charts for all the Ruthies coming in within forty-eight hours of now and found this beaut," Prince K added. "She came in at four this morning and isn't leaving until noon, so this was the perfect opportunity."

Fresh looked down at his shoes. "Geez, you did all this for me? Thanks guys… I don't think I've ever had such an awesome birthday."

"And it's not over yet!" Tricky emerged carrying a large baking pan covered in tin foil. Fresh immediately drew his attention toward the potential food item, interest piqued.

Prince K lit up at the sight. "Are those…. Are those the…?"

"Yessss," Tricky said with an evil grin, "but Fresh has to open his present first!"

"Oh, hell no!" Prince K groaned. "Come on, hurry up, Fresh. I've got the munchies to end all munchies right now. Even the gravel is starting to look appetizing at this point."

"Alright, alright," Jake said, "Spike, Brody, bring out '_the package_'."

Each boy held an end of the box as they brought it over (it wasn't actually that heavy—Jake just thought it would give it a more dramatic effect). It was a bit more than a couple of feet long and wrapped in paper with a colorful dinosaur design. When they set it at Fresh's feet he chuckled. "Really, guys? Dinosaurs? What am I, five?" Scattered snickering permeated the group. Fresh sat on the ground, cross-legged, and tore at the wrapping paper. When he finally opened the gift, Fresh let out an enormous whoop, jumping in the air and waving the box above his head. "OH MY FUCK. IT'S A NEW BOOM BOX! Holy shit… there's no way this could be real, man! I must be dreaming."

"Yeah, we figured after you ran from the Inspector in the rain that one time that you'd need a replacement," Jake said. "This one can play both cassettes _and_ CDs. You can even hook your iPod up to it! Pretty cool, huh?"

"Are you kidding me? There's no way this could've been cheap… who'd you have to kill?"

"I have my ways… I'll explain later." Jake swiftly changed the subject. "For now, let's get our cake on!"

"Excuse you! Those are slutty brownies, to be precise," Prince K interjected. "Also, those are some baked goods that have to be in my mouth within five seconds or I'll flip my shit!"

"Alright, alright, calm your tits!" Tricky said, unwrapping the pan and using a plastic cake knife to cut the dessert into portions.

The friends ate a few bites, shared a few smokes, and had a few laughs. For many of them, it was the first time in a long time that they enjoyed themselves, even if it was only for a single, ephemeral morning. As Jake relaxed and bonded with the group, he realized how much he would really miss these guys if anything ever happened to him or to them, and how much he cherished these simple moments, free from the stresses and responsibilities of real life. He wished it could last forever.

Although Jake didn't want to cut the celebration short, there were other matters that needed attention. He checked his phone. It was after ten-thirty; almost time for class at his community college. Banging on Tricky's now-empty baking pan, he gathered everyone's attention. "Hey, guys. I just want to first thank you all for doing this for Fresh." The group proceeded to aim a few brief "Happy Birthdays" Fresh's way. "Tonight," Jake continued, "is Aly McFarlane's big party. You all are going, right? Because I'm gonna need to bring some friends."

"Sorry dude, can't make it," Brody responded apologetically. "Tonight Prince K, Frizzy, Tash, and Spike are going with me to HomoPalooza at that one gay bar."

"…Gay bar?" Jake said with bewilderment. "I'm pretty sure none of you are actually gay. Or old enough. Frizzy and Tash don't even qualify!"

"My friend's older brother is a bouncer there," explained Brody, "and he said he could let us through without an ID."

Jake sometimes forgot how many advantages Brody had because of his social and financial status. It seemed to him that he had a connection for practically any situation. _Damn_, Jake thought. _That kid is the epitome of posh_.

"Tonight they're serving complimentary drinks as a part of the event. We can't turn down free booze, Jake."

"Yeah, Jake, we're really sorry," Frizzy said.

Jake sighed. "Oh, well. Guess it'll just be me and Tricky and Birthday Boy. You guys can go ahead and get going… except for Fresh. I need to talk to you for a sec."

The teenagers took their leave. After a few minutes, there was nobody left in the train yard except for Fresh and Jake. "Fresh," Jake said finally, lowering his voice, "I need a favor from you. I made a deal with some guy to get you that fancy-ass boom box. He gave it to me for free, but in return, I have to do some work for him."

"Dude, what have you gotten yourself into? You can't just go out and sell your soul to the Devil for a fuckin' boom box!"

"It's all chill, don't worry; he's a big-name dealer around here. He wants me to sell some of his spliff, and I need you to pick it up for me."

"Why can't you do it?"

"I have class, and after that I have to sneak onto the campus of that all-girls private college to talk to Aly. I know that it's your birthday, and I'm really sorry, but I need you to do me a solid. _Please_."

Fresh rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine, I'll do it. Who's the guy?"

"I've never met him. We only ever talked through his middlemen or over the phone. I have this card, though, with his name and address." Jake puts his hand into his back pocket and emerges with a small card, handing it over to Fresh.

The other boy glanced at the card. "… 'Frank'? That's it? Just 'Frank'?"

"He's so mysterious... he never told me his last name. Or anything about him, now that I think about it…" Jake trailed off. "Well, I'm off. See ya, Fresh. And Happy Birthday!" Jake shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets and walked leisurely away, whistling to himself.

Fresh stood alone in the train yard, staring at the card in deep thought. Eventually, he came back to reality with a couple of blinks and sighed. He was happy to be an adult now, but he had a bad feeling that he was going to be in over his head…

* * *

Drug dealers usually resided in the bad parts of town, along with the other dregs of society. The dilapidated buildings, impoverished neighborhoods, and strong presence of organized crime in many of the town's districts proved that Pleasant Ridge was not as perfect as it tried to present itself; in fact, it wasn't very "pleasant" at all. Fresh's stomach churned with anxiety about the possibility of getting mugged, or beat up—or worse. However, as he stood in front of the dealer's place of residence, address card in hand, he was shocked. He was in one of the nicest neighborhoods in town; "Frank's" home was an elegant, three-story estate, with two luxury sports cars parked in the driveway. Fresh peered around to the back of the house and noticed an in-ground pool, complete with diving board, water slide and waterfall. "So fancy," Fresh mumbled to himself. Jake was right—he really must have been a big-name dealer.

Fresh trekked up the cobblestone walkway and rang the doorbell. Within a few moments a voice responded from a speaker on an adjacent wall. "What do you want?" the voice said agitatedly.

"Uh… is there a 'Frank' residing here?"

"It depends. Who sent you?"

"I'm one of Jake's friends. He told me you made a deal with him and I'm here to pick up the, um… stuff."

"Ah, yes. The skinny hooligan boy. I do recall us having set up an agreement. Come in." Fresh could hear the click of the door unlocking. He entered the estate with uneasiness. _This is sketchy as _fuck_, Jake_, Fresh thought._ What have you gotten me into?_

He looked around the foyer, eyeing elaborate, designer furniture and expensive art that decorated the walls and tables. Tempted as he was, he didn't dare swipe anything. This Frank guy sounded creepy enough already—who knew what he was capable of if rubbed the wrong way?

"Enjoying the scenery?"

Fresh jumped at the sudden interruption. He examined the source of the voice—a tall, young man with well-kempt hair and a crisp business suit stood at the doorway to the living room, his face concealed completely by a white bunny mask. To Fresh, its unceasing grin and flushed cheeks gave off more of an eerie impression than an endearing one. The man motioned to the living room. "Come in, have a seat. Get comfortable. Make yourself at home."

Fresh followed the man and seated himself on a lavish sofa; the mysterious man sat across from him in an equally lavish armchair. After a few seconds, Fresh decided to speak first. "Who exactly are you?"

"I'm called Frank. That is all you need to know. Should you really be probing into my identity, though, when you're the strange boy who showed up on my doorstep without any prior notice?"

Fresh was so nervous that he was on the verge of breaking a sweat. The mask's beady, red eyes really gave him the creeps. How could he get comfortable under that thing's ominous glare? "So," Fresh continued, changing the subject, "about the drugs…"

"I have prepared some narcotics for your friend to distribute. Do you know how much you need?"

Fresh rubbed the back of his neck. "Umm… we're planning on going to a big party tonight, so a decent amount."

"Will an ounce do?"

Fresh hesitated. How much was an ounce again? Was that a lot? He knew it was smaller than a pound... what about grams? Aren't those a thing too? "I think a few ounces will be good." Better to be safe than sorry. An ounce couldn't be that big.

"Good." Frank retrieved something from behind the armchair and tossed it toward Fresh. Five one-ounce bags of marijuana were bundled up in a larger bag. Altogether, it was about as big as an infant. "I expect full payment within seventy-two hours."

Fresh was dumbstruck. "H-how can you expect us to sell all this? This is way too much!"

Frank cocked his head to the side. "Excuse me?"

"We can't do this. I'm gonna have to give some of this back to you, I'm sorry."

Frank sharply inhaled through his nose, tensing up. Fresh gulped hard. As quickly as the tension had come on, however, he exhaled and his shoulders returned to a more relaxed position. He rested his elbows on each arm of the chair, interlocking his fingers in front of him. "I don't think I happened to catch your name. Might I ask who it is I am speaking to?" When he spoke, each word was executed in an entirely calm and level manner—unsettlingly so.

"Fresh... my friends call me Fresh."

In the blink of an eye, Frank rose from his chair and pressed Fresh into the sofa, holding a knife to his throat. Fresh whimpered. He couldn't even tell where the knife had come from; it was all so shockingly fast. The dealer leaned closer to him and spoke softly into his ear, carefully enunciating every word. "Well, _Fresh_, when I give someone a job, I expect them to carry it out just as I tell them to. And do you know what happens to people who don't do what I tell them to?"

Fresh, his breathing shallow and fast, shook his head.

"Well," his voice dropped to a whisper, "_I will find them, and find out everything about them—who they are, where they live, where they work, who is important to them—and I will destroy their puny, insignificant lives. I have men that will bludgeon people to death at the drop of a hat and they have ways of gathering any information I could possibly need. I will kill everyone close to you, Fresh, everyone you love. If I'm feeling merciful, I'll let them off easy and simply end their lives, but I'd rather opt for torture that lasts weeks upon months, slowly draining the life from their bodies as they beg for death. Or, there is always human trafficking… the sex slave trade sure is thriving these days." _

He released Fresh and took a step back. The boy trembled with fear. "Now that you understand my request," he said, his voice more cheerful, "run along to your party. I expect to see you in a few days. Goodbye, Fresh… _and remember that I'll be watching you_."


End file.
